Sorrow
by Belladonna Sinistra
Summary: A vignette-style sonfic from Jadeite's point of view, set to 'Sorrow' by Pink Floyd. WARNING- contains mild shounen-ai. Yum.


A short vignette on Jadeite, reflecting on his life and his time in Beryl's cold-sleep dealie. _WARNING_- Contains shounen-ai, boy-boy love, whatever you want to call it, it's still two men kissing. If you have a problem with that, get a life, go to hell, and do not read this story. 

Please note: I do not own Jadeite, Queen Beryl, the Negaverse, or anything related to Sailor Moon. All of the above items belong to the wise and wonderful Naoko Takeuchi, who should be praised and worshipped at every opportunity.^_~

I also do not own the song 'Sorrow'. That wonderful creation is the property of the one and only Pink Floyd. ^_^

Well anyway…..lets get on with the story, shall we?

-Belladonna Sinistra-

~Sorrow~  by Belladonna Sinistra _The sweet smell of a great sorrow lies over the land_ Plumes of smoke rise and merge into the leaden sky… 

A man stands and surveys the site of the battle between the Moon and the Earth. The place where Crown Prince Endymion, his former master, was killed, murdered by the dark force this man now serves. _The Moon Kingdom is gone now _, murmurs the sweet voice in his head. _They no longer rule you, my love, _it continues. _You know what you must do…_The man does indeed know. His icy blue eyes narrow, and he tosses his head, laughing, his golden hair flying in the soft breeze that washes over him, carrying with it the intoxicating scent of death…

_A man lies and dreams of green fields and rivers_

_But awakes to a morning with no reason for waking_

_He's haunted by the memory of a lost paradise_

_In his youth or a dream, he can't be precise…_****

It's that dream again...every night that same dream…or is it a memory? A memory of a former life? He doesn't remember…he remembers meeting his queen…selling his soul…but before that…nothing… Wherever, whenever it was, he was happy there, he knows that much…

_He's chained forever to a world that's departed_

_It's not enough, it's not enough…_

The man sits at a table in a small café. He has been there for hours, drinking cup after cup of hot, sweet tea, watching the world go by. He sees the people walking by, wrapped up in their own lives- old people, young people, husbands, wives, sons, daughters…they are everything, and yet they are nothing. H feels a great emptiness somewhere deep inside- a deep, crushing sensation of loneliness and despair. Everyone else has their time on this world, and then they depart- but not him. He is outside of time, a living memory, a prisoner of the past…

_His blood has frozen and curdled with fright_

_His knees have trembled and given way in the night_

_His hand has weakened at the moment of truth_

_His step has faltered…_

His queen looms above him, her eyes blazing with fury. Her harsh voice fills his ears, mingling with the sorrowful moans of the yoma behind him. He feels himself trembling as he pleads with her, begging her to give him another chance. He's been dreading this moment for weeks now, cursing himself over and over for always being the one to fail, to weaken at the moment of truth. Now his queen casts her spell, and he feels the heavy blackness wash over him, filling him once again with despair and sadness…

_One world, one soul_

_Time pass, the river roll_

_And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication_

_And silent replies that swirl invitation_

_Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea_

_A grim intimation of what is to be…_

He drifts in the blackness, between sleeping and waking, between life and death. He is not alone here. He feels, rather than hears, the voices that echo at the edge of his consciousness, reminding him of everything that has been, and of everything that might have been…For that is the terrible power of his prison- the power to claim its victims by forcing them to relive every painful moment of their lives- every wound, every humiliation, every loss…

_There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night_

_And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight_

_And a silence that speaks so much louder_

_Than words of promises broken…_

_Is there no reprieve from this torment?! Where are my friends now? Why did they_ _leave me alone like this?!_ His friends…the darkness has picked up on this thought. It shows him…_oh no_…_no, please_…_not that memory_….He begs silently, but the darkness doesn't hear his plea…or if it does, it doesn't care…

He sees a garden, two men standing near a fountain, one blond, the other brunette. The brunette rests one hand on the blond's shoulder, the other tipping the smaller man's face up. The taller man lowers his head, kissing the blond's lips softly, tenderly. Then he speaks: _'I love you…' _The words echo across the eternal void between the man and the memory. The man knows it's his memory, a real event in a real place and a real time, but he's not quite sure any more. He can't see the blond's face, or hear his voice…perhaps it's not even him…


End file.
